Rose
by crystallized lace
Summary: Its petals were now shriveled in a delicious rustyrose color and it’s once rich green briared stem a rusty chestnut shade. Beauty and the Beast.


**Rose**

My daughter had been just seven years old when she ran up to my comforting arms, something long and willowy, now withered, waving in her small hand. Gently grasping it from her childish paw I had been surprised to discover that it was the now-withered rose that had once caused much more trouble and heartache then when it had at first appeared to be.

Its petals were now shriveled up in a delicious rusty-rose color, tinted very lightly with burgundy, and it's once rich green briar-ed stem a rusty chestnut shade, its dried thorns sticking out. I remembered when its petals had been velvety crimson with maroon-tinged recesses while a gorgeous, mossy-green stem, dangerous yet pretty thorns complimenting it, had propped the blushing flower.

My father had plucked it for me from the ground after staying the night at what he had thought had been an abandoned castle, its roses having nearly climbed two-thirds over the castle terrace and up the high towers.

Unbeknownst to him, a beast had growled in rage at the taking of one of his precious roses and a terrifying, mighty roar had howled along with the wind as he had raced on all fours towards the old merchant. My father had quavered and trembled, words of excuses had poured subconsciously from his mouth as the beast had glared at him through cold, surprisingly human eyes.

My Beast, then, had been cold and chilling, so long had he been away from humans and animals. He had been vicious and sad, his knowledge of books no help to the lonely bitterness that had encased his unwilling stay at the unfeeling castle.

The Beast had then asked him about the merchant's daughter, me, who had asked for the rose and told him to bring me, of my own will, to spare my father's own life. Hearing this, my father had shuddered and ran, throwing himself on his scared horse and as the horse had hurtled away in a mad gallop.

Oh, how I had loved seeing the beautiful blood-red flower, smelling the consuming perfume of what had seemed a garden full of lush roses!

It was only when I had found out that this small rose had cost a terrible price, my father's life, that I had thrown the wretched plant down, stamping it with my feet to trample its scarlet petals, but it stayed as dramatic and bright as it had seconds before when I had held it in my hand.

I had begged and pleaded, had even demanded, that I go in my father's stead to the Beast's palace, as the Beast had asked.

Ignoring my father's blatant refusals, I had packed my few belongings up and left in the middle of the night, grasping the sweet, dreadful rose and made my way to Beast's palace.

The rose had lasted for months there, never wilting, as fresh as the day it bloomed, in its prime.

The Beast turned out to be sweet and kind, after the initial shock of his petrifying looks, as he softened towards me.

I fell in love with him.

The day I told him so my rose had shimmered and glowed as my sweet, dear Beast changed; he transformed into his human body, lost so long ago and only then regained through my love for him.

I had laughed and cried; tears intermingling with happy, unbelieving laughs as we glowed and blushed, looking under the reproachful gaze of my rose, its petals glimmering as if it were as happy as us, though I doubted it could be possible.

I had kept the rose out for a while longer, but I had noticed that now that I had my Beast's love I no longer had needed its crimson luminance to fill my days and so I hung it, upside down, in my wardrobe to preserve its now-wilting petals and intense flowery incense.

I had forgotten where I had put it, no longer needing it's comforting smell, and had only remembered it now when my precious darling daughter found it.

I told her now of the story the long-dead rose held, my eyes shining while hers glowed, and we smelled the lingering fragrance of its once-enthralling perfume and the still-soft petals of silky smoothness.


End file.
